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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991543">talk like that</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebreathyboi/pseuds/onebreathyboi'>onebreathyboi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fics i make out of songs [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Flirting, M/M, Song fic, Teasing, There is no plot, there is nothing in this, they dont hook up, theyre at a club</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:00:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebreathyboi/pseuds/onebreathyboi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream bartends and the prettiest thing sits at his bar, waiting for a drink. </p><p>I'm the author of <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592790/chapters/70075554"> vacivity filled only by your dodrantal love </a> so maybe check that out as well?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fics i make out of songs [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>talk like that</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi everyone im back with a terrible shot song fic that no one asked for!</p><p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5wAabWkFdwHiToFuqTCiUv?si=7701a19e7b834dd4"> talk like that by the presets </a><br/>this has ZERO plot</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Each booming pulse of base resonated through the tall blond, vibrations of the beat skimming along his skin. The rhythmic thudding of music accompanied by the ever-moving crowd of bodies, skin sliding against sweaty skin in ritualistic fervor. </p><p>Bright purple lights illuminate the humid space, highlighting the thoughtless crowd and bathing them in dazzling colour. His green eyes survey the mob, unable to distinguish person from person in the wave of limbs. </p><p>He returns to the task of cleaning glasses from behind the bar, tearing his eyes from the crowd indifferent to his presence until his mixology skills are required. The buzzer attached to his left shirt sleeve alerts him to a guest requesting his attention. </p><p>Dragging his eyes along the bar top in search of the needy customer, he stops upon a man covered in glitter and without enough clothing to be considered legal. The light in front of his bar stool glows green, call button pushed in and waiting for attention. </p><p>His steps are likely the only in the building that sound clean, free of any sort of sticky covering as he keeps his work station clean. Tan fingers reach under his side of the bar, clicking the receiving button and resetting the light back to inactive as he services the mysterious man. </p><p>“Hey, what can I do for ya’?” Three hours into the night and his throat feels hoarse from all the shouting over loud music, though solstice comes in the form of a quickly ending shift. </p><p>“Let me get two cinnamon toasts, thanks!” British words answer his question, voice in a similar shout-like state as he leans over the bar counter to speak clearer. </p><p>Dream, the name tag reads, gives a thumbs up to the British man, quickly turning to grab the main ingredients for the requested drink from the impressive set up behind him. Brown eyes bore into his back, not unfamiliar for this time of night as people get more impatient while waiting to get drunker. </p><p>Deft fingers pull two shot glasses from their place under the bartender side of the bar and sets them on the counter, other hand holding fireball whiskey and rumchata liquor. The eyes still follow his movements, trained heavily on the hands holding alcohol. </p><p>He sighs under his breath and flips the bottles a few times, pulling out the jigger with his left while juggling the fireball in his right. Picking up the jigger, he pours the required amount of fireball into the measurer before pouring it in a shaker, repeating the process for rumchata with mechanical ease. </p><p>Brown eyes continue their enamoured gaze as he shakes the mixer, tossing it around with trained precision. Though curiously, the blond notices, the brown gaze never leaves his hands. </p><p>After an acceptable amount of shaking later, he pours the cinnamon toast into the two shot glasses and slides them to the man, who slides one back along with his card. </p><p>“I always offer my bartender a drink!” The British man shouts, grinning wildly as he picks up the expertly crafted shot with pale fingers, maintaining eye contact with the blond while he tosses the shot back. </p><p>Green eyes follow the movements of his neck, the Adam's apple bobbing when he swallows the concoction, head tilted back to help the passage of the alcohol. The strangers' pale fingers place the glass back on the bar, not breaking eye contact with the bartender throughout the whole process. </p><p>
  <i>You make me crazy when you<br/>
Talk like that<br/>
I might go crazy when you<br/>
Talk like that</i>
</p><p>Dream looks at the shot, then back at the man, and down to the shot again. Normal hibitations ignored, he grabs the shot and tosses it back with similar ease. A smile breaks on his face, teeth glowing with the lights of the club. </p><p>The song rattles on in the background, though the bartender stays focussed on the glitter-covered man sitting in front of him. Two empty shots sit between them, the card untouched on the counter. </p><p>Upon viewing the payment, he shakes his head from the trance, hearing loud British laughter follow him as he takes the card to the register, starting a tab to keep open for the night as the man inevitably purchases more drinks. </p><p>He returns to the stranger sitting a few steps away, handing him his card and watching the male place it somewhere hidden; a feat considering the lack of pockets or overall clothing. </p><p>Thuds of pulsing beat fill their space once again, green eyes tracing the exposed lines of the body before him. They begin at the pink lips, shining from recent licking clean of leftover shot, lingering from the initial toss back. The gaze descends along the cleanly shaven jaw, sharp edges nearly cutting his stare as soon as it started. </p><p>It trails down to the tendons of his neck and Adam's apple, moving with each adjustment of the head or dry-mouthed swallow. He lingers over the collarbones, covered in shining glitter and illuminated by the purple-light still moving along the club. </p><p>Eyes follow along the slope of his boney shoulders and down skinny arms, stopping at the slim wrist, tracing the patterns of veins poking through milk-white skin. His gaze continues raking down and over his wrist, watching the slender digits fiddle with the empty shot glass.</p><p>This fidgeting brings his sight back up to the face, looking into confident eyes and a playful face. </p><p>“You done?” Even shouting, Dream still hears the teasing tone in the question. </p><p>Never one to pack down from a challenge, he responds, “Not yet! Just admiring the artwork!” If there’s a way to sound smooth while shouting, Dream hasn’t yet found it. </p><p>
  <i>You know I love it when you<br/>
Talk like that<br/>
And girl I'm crazy when you<br/>
Talk like that<br/>
You make me crazy when you</i>
</p><p>He hears a snort over the boom of the song, the strangers face twisting into a delighted grin. A buzz at the sleeve of his shirt alerts him to a patron in need, eyes shifting from the teasing face to the lights of the bar. </p><p>With one quick motion of his hand, he excuses himself to check on the needy customer. A simple drink making process later and he stands in front of the male again, returning to the atmosphere they have created. </p><p>A hand reaches from across the bar, continued fiddling with the shot glass halted in favour of extending a greeting. Dream meets the formality halfway, gaze quizzical as he looks at the man. </p><p>“I’m George!” The British man - George - shouts over the still booming notes of the same song. Has it really only been one song that they’ve known each other?</p><p>“Hello, George, I’m Dream!” He shouts back, clasping the outstretched hand and shaking it with slightly sticky fingers, stray drops of spilled alcohol coating his digits. </p><p>George just smiles and points to his nametag, teeth glowing in the purple light, blinding the blond as the radiating grin assaults his eyes. The drab of alcohol running in his system curves any embarrassment that forgetting his name tag would cause. </p><p>
  <i>A little scary when you<br/>
Talk like that<br/>
But kid I love it when you<br/>
Talk like that<br/>
You make me crazy when you</i>
</p><p>The last notes of the song bleed into another, the music never stopping with the help of a skilled DJ. The skinny brunet takes that as his cue to leave, sliding off the sweaty barstool and back into the night with a tossed wink and the hand signal near his face, mouthing the words, <i>Call me!</i> </p><p>Dream looks down at the suddenly empty seat, trance broken with the sudden departure. He whips his head around for the male, blond hair falling from its precarious man bun and into his face. </p><p>In the hand he used to shake lies a slip of paper and a telephone number, baffling the young blond at what just happened. A quick survey of the crowd lands him just where he started, unable to distinguish anyone from the next.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi bbs<br/>comments and kudos make me feel wanted so mwuah<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/skoonk7"> my twitter </a> get terrible terrible updates there !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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